


The Frozen Lake

by wisia



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Fairy Tale Elements, Fantasy, Gen, General, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2018-08-27 16:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8409385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisia/pseuds/wisia
Summary: Instead of returning to Hasetsu after graduation, Yuuri goes to Russia instead. There’s a strange frozen lake, and Victor Nikiforov is missing apparently.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t think this will be a very long fic because it’s me. Anyway, I really wanted to write a fic that explored a little more of Russian culture. Not sure if I’ll succeed, but at the very least I will get in one fairy tale. I like to think it was always a dream of Yuuri to visit Russia, and he knows more than expected about Russian culture and food. Please excuse any mistakes as this is unbeta-ed.
> 
> Translations are from google translate, so it might not be entirely accurate. Thanks for reading.

               “So,” Mari said, short and blunt. “You graduated.”

                “Ah, yes. I did.” Yuuri winced, nearly pulling his cell away from his ear. His sister’s voice carried loud through the speaker, but it was more—

                “Congrats, I suppose,” Mari continued. Yuuri pulled his cell away just an inch. There it was. His sister could be abrasive at the worst of times, and she didn’t mince her words.

                “Thanks,” Yuuri said, then paused, not sure how to go on. Ever since he came in last at the Grand Prix Final, he’s been lost. Losing at the nationals and losing at life. He went back to Detroit, finished his degree, and now…

                “Now what?” Mari asked, taking the thought right out of Yuuri’s head. “I’m fine supporting you as long as you’re skating.”

                Guilt churned in his stomach, and Yuuri clutched his cell tight. Mari—she could have done more than stay behind in a small town like theirs. Instead, she stayed at the onsen, sacrificing her wants and needs to support Yuuri and their parents.

                “I—I know,” he said, lamely. He couldn’t even repay all his family did just for him to fail spectacularly.

                “Do you?” Mari huffed, and he could hear the noises of the onsen in the background. Yuuri hadn’t been home in a long time, but the sounds were still familiar. His heart ached with homesickness, but he still hadn’t gone home to the hot springs and to face everyone.

                “Where are you anyway?” Mari went on before he could respond. “Everyone’s waiting for you to come back.”

                Yuuri choked. He didn’t know if he wanted to cry or laugh. He looked up at the sky starting to grey. He was nowhere near home nor Detroit even.

                “I’m—I’m not coming home.”

                “What? Yuuri!”

                “Look,” and he managed to be firm. “Tell oka-san and oto-san I’m fine. No need to worry.”

                “But where are you, Yuuri? Are you still in Detroit? You know, Coach Celestino called looking for you.”

                “I’ll come home when I’m ready. Take care, okay?”

                “Yuuri!”

                He hung up, and almost instantly his cell blew up with texts from Mari. He ignored those and honed in on the one from Yuko-chan.

 

                _Hey, Yuuri. My girls are doing great. Thanks for asking. They’ve been keeping me busy. Right now, they’re in total dismay about Victor Nikiforov. Did you hear? He’s gone missing apparently. No one has any idea where he is! But you know the news. He could be retiring, but not even Yavok knows where the man is. Anyway, please take care of yourself. We’re all still cheering you on._

 

                Yuuri frowned. That was unexpected. He texted her a short message that he wouldn’t be returning to Hasetsu anytime soon. Then, he scrolled through the news. Personally, Yuuri didn’t think it was strange that no one knew anything about Victor. His all time hero was a master of surprises. Though, god, Yuuri’s face burned hot in remembrance of his utter humiliation. He did so badly, was yelled at by the upcoming Russian Yuri punk, and couldn’t face his idol. He wished he did take the offered photo, but his dumbass turned away from Victor without even saying no, thank you.

                Annoyed, Yuuri shoved his cell into his pocket and looked up at the sky again. It was turning dark soon, and he still had a way to go. Shouldering his backpack, Yuuri marched onward. It was nothing to sneeze at, getting lost at night in a foreign land. He didn’t fancy sleeping outside, and for all that it was the end of summer—Russia’s weather still had a bite this far north.

                The rural lands of Russia reminded Yuuri of home with their golden yellow fields, sprawling scenic countryside, and general lack of people. The banyas were an even better reminder. The hot bathhouse was an exquisite stumble, but many of Russia’s villages had one or two. He luxuriated in the steam, wondering on his next step. Yuuri was going to skip the venik, he didn’t fancy beating himself with the leaves, and it wasn’t something he was used to doing after a nice steam. He sighed.

                The two Russians that shared the banya with him shot him curious looks. Yuuri closed his eyes, feeling his weight and the fat that gathered in his belly. He hadn’t skated since he stopped to focus on his finals exams and graduation. Although, they probably stared because there weren’t many foreigners that travelled through the less populated regions of Russia.

                “Hello,” one of the man, the shorter one called out. “You speak English?”

                “Yes.” Yuuri blinked, sweat dripping down his face. He wiped his eyes. “Hello.”

                “Good.” The man paused as his companion whispered something fiercely in Russian Yuuri didn’t catch nor understand. He could still use some work. He self-taught himself some Russian, but then he got too busy to keep it up.

               “понял!” The man said, rolling his eyes, before he turned to face Yuuri once more. “May I ask, where are you headed?”

               “давай уже короче!” His companion muttered.

               The man smacked him. “Ignore him. Forgive us for being curious.”

               “It’s fine.” Yuuri smiled. “I don't know actually. Just wandering for inspiration, I guess.”

               That was an understatement. Yuuri tried copying Victor’s routine from the GPF, but it didn’t seem to be enough. Hence, his insane reason for travelling Russia. Besides, he wanted to feel the country that Victor grew up in and had always wanted to visit for longer than a competition. Yuko-chan would call him such a fanboy. It was a shame that Victor might not even be on the same soil as him.

               The man nodded. “You’re not from here, so you don’t know, but there is a big lake as you go to the next village. Don’t go that way if you can help it.”

               “Why?” Yuuri leaned forward, puzzled.

               “Strange noises,” the man answered, drawing his fingers out to gesture something eerie. “There’s something odd. Safer to go another way.”

               “Да. Это небезопасно!” The other man nodded his head vigorously.

               “I see,” Yuuri replied, politely. He knew his small town superstitions, and Russia had them too.

               “I’m not lying,” the man said, insisted. “Look. Have some borscht with us, and we’ll show you another way. The correct route.”

               Yuuri shrugged, accepting easily. “That’ll…that’ll be wonderful. Thank you.”

               He didn’t care for ghost stories, but he still carried his good luck charms from home. It would help immensely as well since Yuuri didn’t know the area. He figured he would just keep walking till he saw the next village.

               The borscht that night was good, delicious and hot. It didn’t compared to his mother’s miso soup, but it was a close thing.

               “Do you understand?” The man—Ivan—asked, tapping the crude map he drew on a napkin.

                “Yes. Going this way, correct?” Yuuri fingered the path. He would still pass the lake, but Ivan assured him it would be fine as long as he didn’t linger.

                “Good, good.” Ivan clapped his hand. His companion who didn’t speak English, Anton, muttered low beneath his breath.“Этого не достаточно.”

                Anton whistled, and Yuuri had to stare. A large brown poodle bounded out, barking as he went to Anton’s ready hands. Anton petted the dog.

                Oh, Yuuri thought, tears suddenly welling up in his eyes. The dog looked so much like Vic-chan, and he bit his lip trying not to cry. He didn’t even pay his respects to Vic-chan in person. His poor dog that died while he was away. Before he could cry, Anton swept the dog up and deposited it into Yuuri’s lap.

                “What?”

                “For protection,” Ivan said, nodding at Anton. “Better to have a dog with you.”

                “But—“ Yuuri was tempted. “I can’t just take your dog!”

                “No, no. It’s fine. He’s not ours. We found him one day wandering in the fields.”

                Yuuri petted the dog, the fur soft and warm beneath his fingers. “What’s his name?”

                “No clue,” Ivan shrugged.

                “Mak!” Anton replied. “Я думаю. Что ж, он отвечает на него в любом случае.”

                “Mak,” Yuuri copied and pronounced carefully. “Mak-chan.”

                He ruffled Mak-chan’s fur, scratched behind its ear.

                “You’ll be fine with him,” Ivan said. “It’ll be a good walk, but he’ll take good care of you. Animals knows these things.”

                Ivan was right, and Mak-chan was a welcome companion as Yuuri walked. Oh, there were buses and cars—who didn’t have any in this modern age? But there was something satisfying about walking. A little before noon, Yuuri was close to the infamous lake Ivan and Anton warned him away from. If he took the forked path to the left, he would be at the lake. Yuuri paused at the fork, confused. Although this was northern Russia with the cold weather, it felt as if the atmosphere became chillier. There was a very distinct winter feel, and a shiver ran down Yuuri’s back.

                Mak-chan barked, and Yuuri shook his head. “Come on, Mak-chan.”

                Except, the dog froze and barked loudly again. Before Yuuri could gather what happened, the dog was off to the left of the fork. Yuuri stumbled after the dog. The trees here were close together and thick, and they blinded his vision as he called after Mak-chan.

                “Mak-chan! Wait!”

                He stumbled and rolled down a little way. Mak-chan barked and licked his face. Yuuri glared at him.

                “And here I thought you were a good dog.”

                He sneezed. The ground was wet with…freshly fallen snow?

                “What?” Yuuri’s breath caught in his throat. Before him was the lake. It was frozen solid, and icicles clung to the tree branches as if they’ve been there for years.

                Mak-chan barked again, heading for the lake, and Yuuri only managed to catch his leash by reflex.

                “Oh, no,” Yuuri said. “We’re not going there.”

                He scooped Mak-chan into his arms, turning back the way they came. The lake was hauntingly beautiful, but it just didn’t seem natural. Mak-chan barked in disappointment, but Yuuri went on. He felt his skin crawl, and he walked even faster. Was this what Ivan and Anton were talking about?

                At the village, following the correct forked path, Yuuri was surprised barely any time had passed. From the lake to the village, it probably took a mere thirty minutes or so trek. He booked a room at an inn. The people here seemed less friendly, and Yuuri stuck to himself as he bought dinner for him and Mak-chan. Then, he checked his cell which wasn’t receiving any reception.

                However, Yuuri couldn’t stop thinking about the lake. It was creepy, but the lake was frozen solid, and Yuuri was so tempted. He hadn’t been on the ice in forever, and the lake seemed perfect. Yuuri tried to ignore it, but he couldn’t sleep. As the moon peaked through his window, Yuuri sat up, pushing his glasses on his face.

                “I think it’s a bad idea,” Yuuri murmured to himself, but he got dressed anyway. He couldn’t stop thinking about skating, and it was funny because he hadn’t had the urge to skate in so long. Not like this, a need—a desire to embrace the ice and give into the movement of gliding and sliding. It was a hunger.

                The ice was cold. Not that Yuuri could feel it through his boots, but the ice was always cold. It’s late in the night, but the frozen lake was a temptation that he really couldn’t resist. Mak-chan was strangely quiet, next to him, as Yuuri laced up his skates. It’s one of the few things Yuuri had carried in his backpack as he travelled despite not using it at all. It was a waste of space, but Yuuri couldn’t bear to part from them.

                The log he sat on creaked as he stood. He should warm up, do some stretches, but—Yuuri stepped onto the lake. The ice was solid beneath his feet, and his blade made an even mark when he slid one foot forward in test. He exhaled deep, breath fogging into mist.

                He pushed himself forward. Slow slides at first, gradually steadier. The lake wasn’t smooth though. There are bumps and debris that steered him off course or near made him trip, but Yuuri continued. A frozen lake at night in the Russian countryside. It was serene, peaceful. A calm washed over Yuuri as he rounded out a loop. Before he could think, Yuuri tried a simple axel. He landed it barely, the uneven ice a deterrent against good jumps and lands.

                “Hm,” Yuuri sighed to himself. If he wanted to skate again, it would be his last season. He doesn’t know if he wanted to try, and he pushed off again this time into a figure eight.

                There’s a noise, and Yuuri started. Because there’s a man across from him, sharing the lake. His hair is long and silver, eyes a frost blue. He stared at Yuuri, and Yuuri stared back.

                “Boku…” Yuuri paused. He doesn’t know enough Russian, and he can’t use Japanese even if it’s his first instinct. Instead, he tries in English, hesitant.

                “Hello,” Yuuri greeted and froze as the man skated right in front of him, so close that a centimeter more and the man’s scarf and coat would touch his own. Then, he shivered as the man spoke. Both from how lovely the voice and how the man’s scarf did brush again him.

               “как ты здесь?” the man murmured.

               “Ano.” Yuuri didn’t understand. How what?

               The man shook his head and said in English, “how are you here?”

               “I'm sorry?” A thought occurred to Yuuri. “I’m, I was just walking. I saw this lake when I passed by earlier, and I thought, I thought it was okay?”

               Yuuri stammered, but the man just frowned, rubbing his lips with his thumb in thought. His gaze is piercing, and Yuuri can’t move. He was stuck in those eyes and in that spot.

                “It’s fine,” the man said slowly. Then, a smile lighted up his face. It transformed him, and Yuuri blinked as the man tugged at his hand. “You like to skate?”

                “I—yes.” Yuuri looked down at their hands. The man’s hand is cold, and he touched Yuuri with a sort of caress that is too intimate for strangers. It’s as if the man doesn’t have a sense of personal space, and Yuuri is proven correct when the man pulled him into a deep embrace. “What—“

                “Excellent. You must skate with me.” The man dragged Yuuri across the ice, and Yuuri can’t breathe. The man skated with ease, brilliant on the surface of uneven ice. He took Yuuri with him with hardly any difficulty, pushing and prompting Yuuri into spins and turns.

                “Wow,” the man said, smiling. “You’re good.”

                “No, I’m not,” and Yuuri was spellbound. He couldn’t take his eyes off the man with his glinting silver hair in the moonlight as they floated across the lake. “You’re better!”

                They could have stayed that way forever, skating across the lake, but there was a sudden bark. Yuuri turned, and Mak-chan is barking furiously.

                “I’m sorry,” Yuuri said. “My dog—“

                “Your dog?” The man looked frozen in shock.

                “Yes, Mak-chan.” Yuuri nodded. “I’m—“

                “You have to go,” the man said, taking Yuuri’s hand. He skated them across to Mak-chan.

                “I—“

                “You have to go now,” the man continued. “It’s not safe here.”

                “But!”

                “Go!”

                The man skated backward on the lake. “I wouldn’t suggest coming back if I were you.”

                Yuuri doesn’t understand, but he scrambled off the ice toward Mak-chan who is barking wildly. Mak-chan barked again, and took a hold of Yuuri’s coat with his mouth.

                “Okay, I’m going, I’m going,” Yuuri said as Mak-chan tugged him away from the lake. “I just—“

                Yuuri turned to wave good-bye, but the man was already gone. There’s something strangely, hauntingly familiar about the stranger, and Yuuri can’t put his finger on it as Mak-chan guided him back to the fork in the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> понял! = Got it!  
> давай уже короче! = Get on with it!  
> Да. Ужасный! = Yes. It's not safe!  
> Этого не достаточно = It's not enough.  
> Я думаю = I think  
> Что ж, он отвечает на него в любом случае. = Well, he answers to it anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Yuuri returns to the lake against his better judgement and without Mak-chan.

                The sunlight filtering into the window was a rude awakening. Yuuri grumbled, turning away from the light. Then, Yuuri bolted up in his bed. Did last night really happen?

                “Mak-chan?” Yuuri whispered. The dog was snuggled against his side, lightly snoring away. He looked so peaceful sleeping that Yuuri didn’t have the heart to wake him. Instead, Yuuri combed Mak-chan’s soft fur and thought back to night before. He shivered. He had been possessed. Yuuri hadn’t felt the urge to skate like that in a long time, and even now his fingers shook and trembled. He wanted to return to the lake and skate with that strange man.

                Yuuri looked down at Mak-chan. “Kami, help me.”

                Before Yuuri knew it, he was at the frozen lake again. He left Mak-chan sleeping and trekked out to the lake by himself. There was a warning in his head, that he should have took Mak-chan with him. However, Yuuri’s need to skate overrode all other thoughts in his head. The place was just as eerily beautiful during the day as it was at night, but Yuuri hardly noticed. His gaze fixated on the ice, that wonderful stretch of ice, that seemed made for skating alone. The mysterious stranger wasn’t there, but it didn’t matter. It really didn’t. He had to be on the ice. He needed to. He laced his skates in a hurry, flying onto the ice almost as soon as he was done.

                There was a feeling in his bones now, and Yuuri fell into it with abandonment. He skated across the ice, full of love and passion. How he had missed this! The wind whipped cold on his face, and the lake was smoother than it was yesterday. Yuuri went across the ice as light as he could. The frozen lake was perfect. Solid, even, right. Very right. With the air and mood, there was only one skate Yuuri could perform. He closed his eyes, fell into the first sequence, and like that—Victor Nikiforov’s routine was his. Every jump, every twist, every beat—it was all his.

                There was a clack, and Yuuri heard the blade against the ice just as he finished. He heaved, breathing hard, as the man from yesterday skated to him.

                “Wow,” the man breathed. “Удивительно!”

                Yuuri blushed, the heat of it somehow fierier then the exertion of the skate.

                “Where did you learn that?” the man asked, excitement in his voice.

                “It’s a routine I copied,” Yuuri answered. “From…from…”

                Yuuri can’t remember. His mind was blank, and he knew the name just moments earlier.

                “I can’t say,” Yuuri admitted, ashamed. “It was just in my head. I don’t know why I can’t remember. He’s my favorite skater of all time too.”

                “Not that much of a favorite, then.” There’s a sad smile on the man’s face. “That’s okay. You performed it wonderfully though. Amazing.”

                Yuuri laughed. “I wished. He was better. He won the Grand Prix Final—a five time world champion. Who even does that?”

                “You did well, even if you need work,” the man reassured him. “There’s not many who could pull off what you just did. Even if he’s a five time champion.”

                There was amusement in the man’s voice, and perhaps because of how honest the man seemed with his words—Yuuri became honest too.

                “Only because I thought no one was watching.” Yuuri looked away. This time the blush on his face is in shame. “I—I’m a skater, and I didn’t do so well. I was in the GPF too, but I came last.”

                “Oh?” the man asked, tilting his head. He leaned in close. “How can that be?”

                “I’m a ball of nerves,” Yuuri replied as the man took his hand in his, soothing. “When my dog, not the one you saw, another—when he passed away, I couldn’t concentrate. I was too sad, and I ate a lot, and now. I just…I haven’t skated like this in a long time. That routine...it reminded me why I love skating. Even so, I'm not very good. Too much anxiety.”

                “But you thought of nothing but the ice now?”

                “Y-yes,” and Yuuri stuttered. The man’s face was too close to his now.

                “What’s your name? You dance like music.”

                “Yu—“

               The man put a hand to Yuuri’s lips. “Wait. Don’t answer that.”

               There’s something dark in his blue eyes. It’s too much to bear, and Yuuri stepped back. The gulf of space between them left Yuuri feeling bereft, odd enough.

               “And your name?” Yuuri asked.

               “I don’t even know anymore,” the man smiled.

               It is a weird answer, and just when Yuuri wanted to ask more—there a caw in the air. He looked up instinctively, and a black bird flew over their heads.

               “You should go,” the man said, gently, still with a smile. “I was too dazzled by your skating that I forgot. This isn’t a place you should be.”

               “What if I want to come back?”

                The man doesn’t answer, merely skated off with a well-executed quad flip.

 

**oOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 

 

                Yuuri hugged Mak-chan close to him, burying his face in the fur. Nothing made sense. He didn’t know who that man was, but why did he feel as if he knew that man? And what was with this sudden urge to skate? He should be grateful that he wanted to skate, but something didn’t seem right.

                Mak-chan barked, turning to lick Yuuri’s face. Yuuri hugged the dog harder.

                “Thank you. You’re as kind as my Vic-chan was. Too bad you can’t actually talk to me.”

                There’s a sudden ring, and Yuuri realized belatedly it was his cell. The reception had picked up again, and he hurried to answer it.

                “Phichit! สวัสดี!” Yuuri engaged Facetime mode, happy, as Phichit came into view. He was his old skating buddy from Detroit.

                “Hey,” Phichit greeted easily. Yuuri can see the rink behind him with scribbly letters on the banners on the wall.

                “You’re back in Thailand?”

                “Detroit’s boring now that you’re gone. You should come visit Bangkok. I can show you around if you’re free.” Phichit shrugged. “But, ah, what happened to you?”

                “ขอบคุณ. Well, I’m trying to skate, believe it or not.”

                “Really?” Phichit looked amazed. “That’s not what everyone else is saying.”

                “Oh?” Yuuri’s stomach sank. He didn’t really want to hear what everyone else was saying about him.

                “Yeah. They say you retired. Coach Celestino called by the way. You haven’t been answering his calls.”

                Yuuri cringed. He couldn’t face the shame of speaking to Coach Celestino.

                “Uh…well…”

                “You’re not at home, are you?” Phichit squinted, trying to see where Yuuri was.

                “No, I’m not.” Yuuri paused. He didn’t know if he should tell Phichit or not, but… “I’m, uh, I’m actually in Russia.”

                “No way!” Phichit screeched. “Seriously?”

                “I’m serious.” Yuuri scratched the back of his head. Mak-chan barked. “Oh, and this is Mak-chan by the way.”

                Phichit stared, and then he burst out laughing. “You sure are full of surprises, Yuu. So, skating?”

                “Yeah.” Yuuri nodded. “I don’t know if I’m going to compete or not, but it’s nice skating.”

                “I think you should. Compete, I mean. It’ll be your last season considering everything, but why not? You’re getting old now,” Phichit teased.

                “Ahaha,” Yuuri snorted. “You’re really funny, aren’t you? Mr. Came in after me. Um, I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.”

                “There’s still next season,” Phichit said, cheerfully. “So, where are you skating? How’s the rink?”

                “Well, I’m not skating at, uh, a rink actually. There’s a frozen lake here, and it’s really nice.” However, as soon as Yuuri said it, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. “I mean…it’s a small village? I’m not in the big city, and…”

                Yuuri fumbled with his words. He shouldn’t be saying so much. Mak-chan burrowed his head into Yuuri’s lap.

                “That’s cool. Wait.” Phichit frowned, thinking face on. “A frozen lake?”

                “Yeah?” Yuuri admitted reluctantly.

                “Isn’t it late summer?”

                Yuuri shrugged. “Yeah, but there’s a frozen lake. Somehow. And there’s another dude—I don’t know his name, but he’s a really good skater.”

                “Uh,” Phichit said, face a little pinched. “Wait a second.”

                Yuuri waited as Phichit walked away from the rink and into the locker room. He didn’t like this at all, but he couldn’t just hang up on Phichit. He resigned himself to answering whatever Phichit wanted to know.

                “Okay,” Phichit demanded. “Talk. What’s this about the lake?”

                Yuuri does. Told him everything about the strange man and the frozen lake.

                “เย็ดแม่!” Phichit swore. “Are you crazy, Yuu?”

                “What are you talking about?”

                “He could be a ผี—a ghost for all you know!” Phichit shivered on screen, rubbing his arm with one hand as if he could dispel the chills. “It’s fishy, don’t you think? Telling you not to come back.”

                “Maybe it’s private property?” Yuuri suggested. Something discomfort settled into Yuuri’s gut, and he knew logically that Phichit was probably right.

                “I don’t know,” Phichit made a face. “Careful. Don’t go disappearing like Victor now.”

                Yuuri froze. Victor. That man did a quad flip, and there was only one person in the world who made it his signature.

                “Yuuri? What’s wrong?”

                “Nothing,” Yuuri said, hastily. “I just, I just remembered something. Can I call you back later?”

                “Yeah, but be careful. Good luck with your skating.”

                “You too.”

                Yuuri pressed a hand to his heart. It was thumping loud and hard beneath his palm. He knew who the man was.

                What was Victor Nikiforov doing out here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Google Translations:
> 
> Удивительно! = Amazing!  
> สวัสดี = Hello  
> ขอบคุณ = Thank you  
> เย็ดแม่ = motherfucker  
> ผี = ghost


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yuuri returns to the lake yet again and learns why Victor is there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found a nice English-Russian phrase dictionary online. So, I hope my Russian will be more accurate. There are some additional notes pertaining to what goes on in the fic, but I'm going to put them in the end notes. So, please check the end for that!
> 
> Also, it really isn't realistic if everyone could understand Yuuri or speak English if it's a small town in Russia, so let's have some language difficulties, eh?
> 
> Thanks again for reading.

               Yuuri swallowed the impulse to dash to the frozen lake. He had to process this. What did Victor think? Yuuri wasn’t an amazing skater at all, but even if Yuuri came in last at the GPF there was no way Victor wouldn’t know who he was. Right? Yuuri groaned, face in his hands, knocking his glasses askew.

                “Mak-chan,” he wailed. “He saw me do his routine!”

                His heart raced and thudded madly in his chest. Oh kami, Yuuri was going to die…but he was also… _happy._ Even if Yuuri didn’t realize it at the time, he was able to skate the same rink with Victor, or share the same ice rather. They skated together, and Victor’s eyes were all on him, and…Yuuri’s ears burned. It wasn’t fair how good Victor looked with those frost blue eyes and long silver hair.

                …long hair.

                Yuuri sat up properly, fixing his glasses. “Ne, Mak-chan? Victor didn’t have long hair at the GPF. Isn’t that kinda fast for his hair to grow back?”

                Mak-chan barked, wagging his tail.

                “No.” Yuuri shook his head, eyes closing, and pictured Victor’s long hair once more. He didn’t notice Mak-chan put his head down with a whine, paws covering his own eyes. “He could have extensions.”

                People could and did have hair extensions, and Victor was always excellent in his public appearances. The man was hardly ever caught looking disheveled or a mess compared to Yuuri. Though, he blamed Phichit for those terrible _Instagram_ photos.

                “Tomorrow,” Yuuri promised himself. “Or the day after.”

                He’ll wait a bit before seeking Victor out. He’ll also text Phichit later that he wasn’t crazy, and it wasn’t a ghost. Victor Nikiforov? Who would have thought?

 

**oOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 

                The inn was quiet when Yuuri came down for breakfast the next day. He could feel eyes on him and tried not to huddle or trip Mak-chan as he walked. Mak-chan licked his hand in comfort. The stares here seemed more pervasive compared to before. He knew he was a foreigner, but as he ordered his breakfast Yuuri could heard the low whisperings. He ignored the whispers the best he could and poured himself a cup of hot black tea. That was another thing Yuuri appreciated about Russia. They liked tea as much as the Japanese did, and it was far better for his stomach in the morning compared to coffee. Although, he didn't take it with sugar or cream or so.

                He inhaled the steam, letting the cup warm his hands. It took away the cold seeping into his clothes. The black tea really woke him up, enough to contemplate the weather. Yuuri really should have packed more warm clothes, but he didn’t think he would venture this far north. The first sip was more than heavenly, calming him down enough to smile at the stone-faced server who brought him his bread, cheese, and kolbasa.

                “Mak-chan,” Yuuri whistled, catching the poodle’s attention who sat on the floor next to him. “Here, boy.”

                He took one whole slice of kolbasa off his breakfast and tore it into pieces for Mak-chan to eat. The dog gobbled up the sausage bits, licking his fingers for the remaining juices. Yuuri missed Vic-chan a lot, but Mak-chan was a very good dog. He looked so much like Victor’s dog and like Vic-chan that it wasn’t hard for Yuuri to love him so much already.

                “Very good, Mak-chan. Such a good—“

                “чур меня!”

                Yuuri jumped as his table clattered, and the tea spilled. The ushanka on the elderly Russian man’s head was not enough to obscure the death glare in his eyes. Yuuri felt himself withered inside.

                “What? простите!”

                “чур меня!”

                A woman, his wife Yuuri guessed, hurried to pull the Russian away. The old man wasn’t having it though and held his fingers up, thumb, middle, and ring finger tucked in.

                “чур меня!”

                Yuuri wasn’t a fan of heavy metal, and he watched in bewilderment as the man next reached for a bottle of salt.

                “Matte! What are you—” Yuuri flinched as a spray of salt landed on him.

                “пожалуйста, уходите.” The server directed the man and his wife out.

                “Sorry,” she said in lightly accented Russian.

                “Я в порядке, все хорошо,” Yuuri replied, helping her clear his wet plate. “I’m fine. Really, it’s okay.”

               He smiled and shook the salt grains out of his hair. Mak-chan barked, wagging his tail. The server frowned, but she didn’t say a word until she brought him back a new plate along with some apology blinis.

               “А то, чего они не понимают, их пугает,” she explained as she set his plate down. 

               “Ano…,” Yuuri struggled to use his pitiful Russian. “Understand?”

               “плохой английский,” the server muttered under her breath.

               “подождите минутку!” Yuuri said, holding out his hand. He pulled out his phone, opened Google Translate, and handed the phone to her. “Type here?”

               It was a little difficult, but Yuuri thought he got the gist of it as he read the translated text.

 

_They don’t understand you. With strange things at the lake, you’re different. Easy to blame._

 

               “Озеро?” Yuuri repeated out loud.

               The server nodded, knocking on the wood three times. “да. Озеро.”

               She continued to borrow the cell for the next words, forehead furrowing in concentration.

 

_People see strange lights there at night. They say winter sits there though it’s summer._

 

               “I see,” Yuuri said, reading the translation. An odd sensation ran through him then, and he couldn’t shake it off.

_Don’t go to the lake!_

The server nudged Yuuri’s bag with her foot. It contained Yuuri’s skates. “очень плохо! очень плохо!”

“But…” Yuuri shook his head. If the town thought that, then he probably shouldn’t mention seeing Victor there. “спасибо!”

He then typed in his own sentence for her to read.

 

_Thank you. The food is delicious by the way. Mak-chan really enjoys the kolbasa._

 

“не за что,” the server said and patted Yuuri on the shoulder. She left him to his breakfast, and Yuuri stared at his phone. 

_Don’t go to the lake…_

 

**oOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 

But, of course, Yuuri didn’t listen. He didn’t remember being so reckless before, but there was a need within him. A compulsion that he couldn’t explain. Yuuri took Mak-chan with him this time though, hiking through the path. The fork in the road looked mildly different. There was a light frost on the grass, and as Yuuri walked down the left to the lake the frost grew deeper. The snow was thick and heavy, and snowflakes fell soft and slow.

Yuuri grimaced as the snowflakes landed on his glasses, blurring his vision slightly.

“Phichit, if I die, at least you know,” he muttered out loud. He couldn’t believe that Phichit might be right. Though, what did it say about Yuuri that he saw Victor there if he was a vision? He patted his pocket, feeling for the good luck charms he received when he left home. It might have been for school and for skating, but it should at least do something. He hoped. Mak-chan barked. “Right, here we go, Mak-chan.”

Yuuri’s skin prickled, senses on alert as he travelled down the slope. The frozen lake looked even more magnificent then before. The icicles on the tree branches had spread, now like delicate spider webs. Snow covered every inch of the ground, even the log that Yuuri had sat on to lace his skates. The lake itself was illuminating in its own shine, glistening. The surface was smooth and even, inviting. There was a slight tug, and he felt the urge to skate come onto him again.

Yuuri inhaled a deep breath, pulling his skates from his bag. He sucked in a breath as he brushed away the snow from the log with his gloves and sat down to put on his skates. It was cold, and there was a roar in the wind. A high whistling noise. Yuuri determinedly laced his skates anyway. Then, he took Mak-chan in his arms and headed onto the ice. The need to skate intensified.

“Here we go, Mak-chan. I’m an idiot.” He checked his pocket again once more for his charms. He didn’t know anything about Russian spirits, but he really hoped that the charms would help. Did he needed some Russian charms or talismans?

“Help me, kami.” Yuuri prayed, quick and silent. He skated, heading for the center, figuring that was a good start. As he skated, even with his stamina, he felt the distance was even longer than he first saw. No matter how fast Yuuri skate or how slow, the distance didn’t seem to change. The middle of the lake always seemed so far away despite Yuuri’s best efforts.

“Is it me?” Yuuri asked Mak-chan, hugging the poodle tight. “Why does the distance seem so long?”

“That’s because it is,” a voice answered.

Yuuri screamed, nearly dropping Mak-chan, but a pair of hands reached out and steadied him.

“Are you okay?” Victor looked down at him, worried.

“Y-yes.”

Victor nodded and patted Mak-chan, arm still braced around Yuuri. “Didn’t I tell you to stay away?”

Yuuri cringed at the tone in Victor’s voice. Even though Victor was smiling, he didn’t sound too happy. “You did, but—why are you here?”

“What do you mean?” Victor’s eyes pinned Yuuri’s sharply, and Yuuri almost didn’t know how to speak.

“Ano, everyone’s been wondering what happened to you. The news say that Victor Nikiforov has disappeared! But you’re here and—“

“что?”

“Uh…”

Victor grabbed Yuuri closer, forehead nearly touching Yuuri’s. “Say that again.”

“You’re here and—“

“No, before that.”

“Y-your name? V-victor Nikiforov?” Yuuri stammered.

“слава богу!” Victor exclaimed loudly, and Yuuri nearly combusted when Victor kissed him on the both cheeks, twice. “I thought I was done for!”

“Victor? What are you saying?”

“Listen, you have to get out of here! I mean it when I say it’s not safe.”

“But why?” Yuuri gestured to the frozen lake. The snow was falling faster, thicker. “I know there’s something wrong.”

Victor laughed, running a hand through his hair. Now that Yuuri looked closer, there were bags under Victor’s eyes, and he looked worn out. “You’re not going to believe this.”

“Please.”

There was silence, and Mak-chan barked. Victor sighed and wrapped an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. “Come. This way, closer to where you came. It’ll be easier for you to leave.”

They skated back to where Yuuri entered the ice, and it took less time than Yuuri took to reach the middle of the lake. When they reach the lake edge, Victor immediately lifted Yuuri off his feet and onto the bank.

“Why?” Yuuri mumbled, a little lightheaded. “I still want to skate?”

“It’s the lake,” Victor said, simply. “You feel the need to skate.”

“Yes.” Yuuri could feel the tingle all over him, and he almost went back onto the lake except Victor held him in place. “I don’t—“

“Sh,” Victor said softly, hands firm where he kept Yuuri from returning to the lake. “I’m immune. I won’t let you skate. Though, that’s a tragedy.”

“Thanks,” Yuuri said, numbly. He leaned against Victor. “But…the lake?”

“There’s also no real concept of time here except what she wishes it to be,” Victor added, grip tightening on Yuuri’s waist. Mak-chan whined between them.

“She?”

“The Baba Yaga.” Victor laughed, low and bitter. “I didn’t think she was real either. I should have listened to my babushka! She took my name, and now I’m stuck here. Thank you for giving back my name.”

“I see.” Yuuri mulled it over. “How do we free you then?”

“You believe me?”

“Victor, if I haven’t seen this lake or you—I don’t think I would have, but here I am. So, please. Let me help if I can.”

A flash of white passed by them. It was a horseman on a white horse dressed all in white.

“трахать!” Victor swore.

“Victor?”

“We don't have time. Her servants are coming back. In a little bit, the red one will be here. You have to leave now. They will tell her about you.”

“But what about you?”

Victor kissed the top of Mak-chan’s head. “Ask Makkachin. He’ll help you. All you need to do is feed him some food.”

“Victor!” But the man was already skating off.

Yuuri shivered as a flash of red past him. A horseman on a red horse dressed all in red.

Mak-chan barked in warning, and Yuuri hightailed it out of there, stumbling through the snow and up the bend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The gesture the old Russian man performed wasa gesture to ward off evil. However, it was later popularized through heavy metal. I assumed Yuuri wouldn't know that (hell, I didn't know that), and thus the reason why he's puzzled by the sign. 
> 
> Also, I couldn't figure out how they would use the gesture as I know some gestures, people make the sign along with a motion. I decided just to have the man say "evil, begone" along with the sign. I hope that wasn't too inaccurate.  
> (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sign_of_the_horns)
> 
> **Knocking on the wood three times: common enough gesture to ward off bad luck for a number of countries  
> (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Knocking_on_wood)
> 
> ***Baba Yaga is a supernatural being that appears in the old Russian fairytales. The one I know the best is "Vasilisa the Beautiful", although there are another few tales with her. This fairy tale is the main reason why I wanted to write this fic, besides wanting to have a little more Russian culture in the fandom. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vasilisa_the_Beautiful)
> 
> Translations:
> 
> kami = god  
> чур меня= Evil, begone  
> простите = sorry  
> matte = wait  
> пожалуйста, уходите= please, leave  
> Я в порядке, все хорошо = it's okay, i'm fine  
> А то, чего они не понимают, их пугает = what they don't understand scares them  
> плохой английский = poor English  
> подождите минутку = wait a minute  
> Озеро = lake  
> да. Озеро = yes, the lake  
> очень плохо! = very bad  
> спасибо = thank you  
> не за что = you're welcome  
> что?= what?  
> слава богу! = thank God!  
> babushka = grandmother  
> черт! = fuck


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri needs to process this. Really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today because I have to work the next day or two. I'll try to write a longer one when I get back from work.
> 
> By the way, I should have noted this earlier but Yuuri is thinking/speaking in Japanese. I don't always convey that except at times when I choose to use some Japanese words, mostly in context with another character. And whenever Yuuri speaks to Victor, it's in English. It seems far more likely to me that they speak to each other in English although I know the anime has them all speaking Japanese.
> 
> Thanks for reading and for following this still.

               “вы в порядке?

                “Ah…да!” Yuuri tried to smile, but it was strained. He was wet and cold, and the server from earlier gave him curious looks.

                “но ты—“

                “я в порядке.” Yuuri forced his smile wider. He edged his way through the entrance. The server still stared at him, so he started to babble, forgetting his limited Russian. “I’m good. Fine. No need to worry. I’ll just—“

                He gestured with his free hand, one arm still wrapped tight around Mak-chan, and pointed up.

                “Up. I’m just gonna— я в порядке!”

                The server didn’t look as if she believed him. Yuuri winced inwardly. He wasn’t any good at lying. He couldn’t even keep his head straight for the ice for that matter.

                “Ты уверен, что?” She reached out for him, and Yuuri knew she really wasn’t convinced. Well, it probably didn’t help that Yuuri looked so wild. Mak-chan barked, and Yuuri looked down. Mak-chan barked again, and Yuuri almost froze. He never took off his skates.

                “я в порядке,” he repeated in a hurry. “спасибо! Thank you!”

                He bowed, paused, bowed again before scooting himself to the stairs and clattering a racket on the way up. Yuuri hoped he didn’t ruin the colorful carpet, but he didn’t stop to check. He squeezed Mak-chan, biting the inside of his cheek. She probably realized Yuri went to the lake even with all that.

                In the room, Yuuri dropped Mak-chan on the bed and hugged himself. His chest was tight, and there was a fine tremor all over him. Yuuri shook. What did he just see?

                Mak-chan barked, and Yuuri scowled. He shook a finger at the poodle.

                “Don’t look at me like that!” He pulled at his hair, bit his thumb. “Oh, kami!”

                He struggled out of his wet jacket, flinging it onto the table. There was still a trace of snow on it. What was he going to do? Yuuri sneezed. Mak-chan barked again, trying to get his attention, but he ignored him. He focused on pulling off his skates, undoing the laces. There was a nick in the blade, and Yuuri didn’t know what caused that but he ran a long way. His fingers shook, and it seemed to take hours to get his skates off. His heart still raced, beating a furious rhythm, and then there was a knock on the door.

                Yuuri unintentionally slid back against the door. Mak-chan was quiet, too quiet, and did they come for him already? He gulped, nervous, as a second hard knock sent his door rattling. He didn’t want to die!

                “Sir?”

                Yuuri let out a breath of relief. It was only the inn worker, but he only opened the door a crack. Just in case.

                “Hello?”

                The server glared at him. She had a tray in her hand, and she thrusted it straight into his arms.

                “выпей это. И не болей!”

                “простите,” Yuuri stuttered. He had the impression she was scolding him, but she merely huffed. Tapped the tray and left.

                “I really am sorry,” he said quietly. He wasn’t sorry enough to not go to the lake, but that was a different story. Yuuri banged his head against the doorframe, groaning. Mak-chan merely barked at him, and Yuuri closed the door and finally examined the tray.

                Tea. It was tea. Yuuri could do tea. He set the tray down on the drawer next to the door. Before he poured himself a cup, Yuuri eyed the door again. After a moment, he wedged the desk chair under the doorknob.

                “This is—“ Yuuri mumbled this himself. He wasn’t hungry even though the oreshki looked tasty. The tea though, that Yuuri needed. He spilled a little as he poured a cup. He still couldn’t stop the shakes entirely, but the tea dispelled them for the most part. It was enough that Yuuri could regulate his breathing. As his heartrate slowed down, he settled onto the bed and patted Mak-chan absent mindedly.

                “Mak-chan…”

                The dog barked.

                “Makkachin,” Yuuri said to himself then choked on his next sip of tea. “Makkachin!”

                The poodle cocked his head at him, as if knowing, and Yuuri was aghast.

                “Wait. You’re Makkachin?”

                Mak-chan barked in affirmation, wagging his tail.

                “Oh, oh.” Yuuri clasped a hand over his mouth. He had Victor’s dog? His real in life actual dog?

                “I’m going to—“ Yuuri put the tea down and gripped the blanket, spots in his eyes. He was going to faint at this rate. “I can’t—“

                Makkachin hopped onto his lap, licking his face in earnest.

                “That’s really doesn’t,” Yuuri protested, but Makkachin wouldn’t stop licking his face. Yuuri rolled his eyes. “Okay. You got me. It does help a little.”

                He bent forward, resting his head on top of Makkachin’s. He had Victor’s dog and an impossible fairy tale to solve. What was he supposed to do? If Yuuri didn’t see it with his own eyes—he blew out a breath, ruffling Makkachin’s fur.

                “So, Makkachin,” Yuuri said with a laugh. “It’s nice to meet you, I guess.”

                Mak-chan nuzzled into his thigh in answer. He didn’t know how long he sat there, thinking and absorbing everything that happened, when his pants vibrated. Grimacing, he shifted Makkachin to reach his pocket. It was another text from Mari.

               

_Yuuri. Seriously. I know you can read just fine. Come on and call me back already._

 

                Yuuri snorted. That was the last thing on his mind. He almost lost his life. He tapped his cell against his knee. Phichit. He could text Phichit.

 

                _Hey. You remember that lake? Funny thing happened…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> вы в порядке = are you okay?  
> Да = yes  
> но ты = but you are  
> я в порядке = I’m okay  
> Ты уверен, что = are you sure?  
> спасибо = thank you  
> выпей это = drink this  
> и не болей = and don’t get sick!  
> простите = sorry


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phichit's one of the best friends Yuuri could have. And Makkachin, being Victor's dog, is naturally surprising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter. I managed to find time to write, so have a little bit.
> 
> Thanks again for reading and commenting. It makes me happy that people even want to read this fic, as weird as it is. It didn't seem like something anyone would be really interested in reading. I mean, it's certainly not something like a soulmate fic or porn, but yeah...thanks.

               Yuuri almost dropped his cell as it vibrated suddenly, the noise too loud in the quiet of the room. He fumbled to answer the call, making Makkachin grumbled in discomfort. It hadn’t even been a minute.

                “Hello? Phichito-kun?”

                “You went back to the lake, didn’t you?” Phichit accused. “What did I tell you? Ghosts!”

                “It’s not a ghost.” It really wasn’t, but a Baba Yaga didn’t seem all that much better either, whatever it was.

                Phichit snorted. “Why else would you be calling me?”

                “I texted you,” Yuuri said, affronted. “You called me. Aren’t you supposed to be asleep right now?”

                He checked the time on his cell. It should be the middle of the night in Thailand.

                “Maybe,” Phichi answered, evasive.

                “Cat videos again?” Yuuri asked, dryly. He never knew where Phichit found the energy to skate after staying up late.

                “As if! Now, what about the lake? Don’t change the subject!”

                Yuuri leaned back, cell against his ear. He coughed as the motion dropped Makkachin’s full weight from his lap into his stomach.

                “Well, I know where Victor disappeared to—” Makkachin thumped his tail too close to Yuuri’s groin. “And his dog.”

                He hastily pulled the poodle out of the way, higher up. Makkachin merely pushed his cold wet nose into Yuuri’s neck.

                “You know where Victor is?” Phichit’s voice was full of disbelief.

                “It was the skater—the one I told you about.”

                There was a pause. “How can you forget your favorite skater, Yuuri? Are you really sure it’s him?”

                “Yes!”

                “Are you sure you’re really his number one fan? I mean—“

                “I’m sure,” Yuuri said, hotly. “It’s because of the lake. He didn’t even know his own name. But I know it’s him. We skated. Together. Again.”

                “Skated together, huh. I didn’t know you had it in you,” Phichit teased, a suggestive tone in his voice that made Yuuri blushed hard.

                “Not like that!” Yuuri corrected hastily. “But, um…you were right about the lake. Victor’s being held hostage by a Baba Yaga? And well…”

                Phichit groaned. “I told you the lake was fishy. What kind of frozen lake is there in the summer?”

                “Anyway, I don’t know what to do! And I can’t even talk to anyone else about this without sounding crazy.”

                “You still sound kind of crazy.” Phichit hummed. Yuuri could hear him tapping away on a keyboard. “Google says the Baba Yaga likes to eat people.”

                “She does?” Yuuri asked, alarmed.

                Phichit sighed. “Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri. Let me guess. You panicked and didn’t even look it up, didn’t you? Lucky for you, I got you covered. Hm, has a few servants—three horsemans in white, red, and black.”

                “I saw them.” Yuuri shuddered. “Not the black one, but the other two.”

                “Oh, and creepy invisible hands,” Phichit continued. “Don’t ask her about them by the way.”

                “Okay, right.” Yuuri pushed his bangs out of his face, hand resting on his forehead. “But how do I free him? Victor’s the one that’s trapped.”

                “I don’t suppose you’ve got a magical doll to feed?”

                “No, but…” Yuuri thought back to Victor’s strange parting words. “He told me to feed his dog?”

                “Oh, good. Did you try that?”

                “Uh, no—“

                “Try that. It must be important if he told you.”

                “But Phichit!”

                “You got this,” Phichit reassured. He paused and went on more solemnly. “I’m glad you asked me for help, Yuuri. I know it’s strange circumstances, but I’m glad. You never liked asking for help, and it makes me feel useless.”

                “You do?” Yuuri asked, surprised. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

                “Yeah, but it makes me wonder what kind of friend am I?”

                “A good one,” Yuuri said, firm and quick. “You’ve always been there for me. I’m sorry I made you feel that way. So, thank you for everything.”

                “Haha. You’re welcome. The rink is really boring without you. Hurry up and bring Victor back. I expect to see you on the ice.”

                “Thanks, Phichit.”

                “Good luck.”

                “And go to sleep!” Yuuri scolded just as Phichit hung up.

                Yuuri eyed Makkachin who was still on top of him. “I don’t get how feeding you is supposed to help. Don’t I feed you all the time?”

                Makkachin didn’t answer, a heavy pressure on Yuuri’s chest.

                “Too bad you can’t talk,” Yuuri muttered before easing the poodle off of him. He didn’t have any meat. He looked at the oreshki. Makkachin probably wouldn’t eat it, and Yuuri didn’t dare feed the dog something that might kill it. Then, Victor really won’t forgive him even if Yuuri managed to save him from the Baba Yaga. He picked up the walnut shaped cookie, examining it in disappointment. He could get actual food tomorrow. Real, proper food for Makkachin. If Victor could wait that long.

                “Ruff!”

                “Wha—“

                Makkachin pounced, and Yuuri dropped the cookie onto the bed, crumbs spilling across the blanket.

                “Wait, no!” Yuuri pulled, but Makkachin had already gobbled down the deadly treat. “Mak-chan!”

                Before he could pry the dog’s mouth open, Makkachin stuck out his tongue. “Bleh. That was nasty.”

                Yuuri stared.

                “Don’t look at me like that,” Makkachin growled.

                “You’re, you’re talking,” Yuuri said, weakly.

                Makkachin yelped. “Don’t faint on me!”

                The poodle immediately pawed at Yuuri’s face.

                “I don’t—how are you?”

                “Speaking Japanese? Speaking at all?” Makkachin’s tail swished. “Magic? This is a one time deal by the way. I need you to get Victor for me, if you really care about him.”

                “Eto…” Yuuri shook his head. His life was getting stranger by the moment.

                “Come on, Yuuri. Didn’t you say you’ll help him?”

                “Yes.” That wasn’t a choice. How could Yuuri not help?”

                Makkchin barked, cheerful. “Now, here’s what I need you to do. First, you need to get a spool of thread. It's the only way to find Baba Yaga’s house…”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a magic spool of thread, and a second Baba Yaga?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, work has me on a yo yo schedule. It's really hard to work one night on, one night off, and one night on again. I just end up sleeping a lot. OTL
> 
> Anyway, thank you for your patience! Have another part, and there's a hint or two for the future parts. Maybe you can spot it and figure it out? Though, it is pretty much only one line or two.
> 
> Also, I finally figured out how to do footnotes! So, when I have time I will go back and try to do that so it'll be easier for reading the translated text or for little bits of info. (I actually do know how to make the links clickable, but yeah. I should fix those too.) As always, see end note for more details and fun stuff.
> 
> Also, also, I'm pleased with Phichit. I figured he was social media obsessed to an extent. Hope my characterization of him will be okay now that episode 6 is out.

                “Did you get all of that?” Makkachin asked, grim expression on his face. His teeth were bared, and his eyes serious. It was a far cry from the poodle’s normal pleasant demeanor. Yuuri would know—the past few days were evident of that with the constant licking and care of Yuuri’s fragile psych. Furthermore, Makkachin was probably the softest and cuddliest dog in the world. Always playful and sweet in those rare interviews appearances with Victor.

                It was unsettling Yuuri decided as he answered, “yes.”

                Makkachin almost jumped Yuuri’s throat then, paws up to rest on Yuuri’s knee, face right to Yuuri’s. He looked Yuuri dead in the eyes, pressing.

                “Are you sure?” There was a tightness to his voice, and there was a faint undercurrent of a tremble building in his paws. “Remember, I can’t talk come morning.”

                Yuuri tilted his head, considering. Makkachin looked…he was…

                “Yes, but—“ Before he could think, Yuuri reached out to cup a gentle hand behind Makkachin’s head.

                Makkachin barked in confusion, but Yuuri didn’t let him pull back. Kept his hand behind Makkachin’s head, unyielding but relaxed enough that Makkachin could move if he really wanted to do so. He merely asked, “Are you okay, Makkachin? It can’t have been easy for you.”

                The poodle bowed his head and whined. Like that, the roughness of Makkachin’s attitude disappeared, crumbling in one swoop. He pushed himself into Yuuri’s chest, needy and hurt. Yuuri wrapped his arms around Makkachin, frowning as a large tremor shook through Makkachin’s form.

                “Oh, Mak-chan!” Yuuri uttered in dismay. He stroked Makkachin’s fur. The poor poodle pressed his face so tight against Yuuri’s chest that his words were muffled.

                “I just—it’s been so long since Vitya was taken.”

                “We’ll get him back. I will get the thread tomorrow and…” Yuuri didn’t know what else to say to reassure Makkachin.

                “I tried so many times already,” Makkachin confessed quietly. “I haven’t been able to, and Vitya—my Vitya!”

               The poodle whined again, and Yuuri focused on rubbing his flank firm and easy. Just like how he used to do with Vic-chan whenever he felt depressed.

               “Sh…You’ve been a very good dog. Are a very good dog, in fact. Even to a stranger like me. We’ll get Victor back.”

                “Yes, but what if?” Makkachin shook again, tremors starting anew. Yuuri carefully rubbed the tremors away the best he could.

                “I promise.” He looked down at Makkachin fondly. “If not for him, then for you and my dear Vic-chan.”

                Yuuri couldn’t imagine if Vic-chan had to go through what Makkachin did. His heart stirred, unsettled by how distressed Makkachin was.

                “Well,” Makkachin tried to smile, looking up at Yuuri with watery eyes. “You’re the only one that managed to remember Victor.”

                Yuuri shook his head. “That’s because of Phichito-kun. I forgot too.”

                Makkachin licked his chin. “I’m sorry. I—I---“

                “You’re scared. And tired. I know you are the sweetest dog. Victor is proud of you. So lucky to have a dog like you.”

                Makkachin nuzzled further into Yuuri. “Thank you.”

                “No, thank you.” Yuuri continued to stroke Makkachin slow and gentle. It took a long while before Makkachin’s shakes dissipated entirely and before slipping into a quiet snore. Yuuri carefully reached for his cell, intent on looking up the things he needed. Just how long had Victor been trapped? How long had Makkachin been on his own? Either way, Yuuri would keep his promise. He swore it.

 

**oOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 

                The bus spluttered, gas coming out of the exhaust pipe in short bursts. The windows were dusty with light scratches embedded in them. They gave a lackluster view of Russia’s land. As the bus creaked and rocked over uneven dirt roads, Yuuri spotted colorful dachas here and there. There were fruit trees, apples maybe, and what looked to be grape vines. Yuuri wasn’t entirely certain, not being an expert in agriculture. The fields were neatly arranged, and he could appreciate the last of summer’s best. Makkachin nosed Yuuri’s nose in question.

                “Ah,” Yuuri said, tearing his gaze from the rolling landscape. “Just wondering how much more longer.”

                He scratched behind Makkachin’s ear. The poodle barked. True to the one time deal, Makkachin couldn’t communicate in human words when they departed that morning from the inn.

                “I hope we get there before it’s too late though.”

                Yuuri grimaced at the thought of walking in the dark although it was looking likely the longer the ride went. He was thankful he didn’t really have to walk so many leagues as the folktales said. Modern technology was really something, even for a place this far out.

               There was a Baba Yaga several villages over from the lake—a nice one, Makkachin said. She had the spool of thread that would lead to the Baba Yaga that held Victor.

                “But how am I supposed to find this Baba Yaga?” Yuuri asked. He brushed up on his Russian folklores, and it seemed the house could only be found with the magic thread. Unless it was Vasilisa, then it was just a neighbor walk away apparently. Makkachin barked, tail wagging. He was the guide, and his nose had no problem navigating the woods to this Baba Yaga.

                The bus chugged and chugged over the terrain. It travelled slowly, engine purring in effort to move its cargo. The bus was surprisingly full of people, and Yuuri squeezed himself in the back corner seats, trying not to stand out. He stared out the window, watched as the sky turned scattered orange pink waves.  Yuuri fidgeted, struggling not to check his cell. Before leaving, he texted Phichit. When they arrived at the right destination, Makkachin lightly tugged Yuuri’s sleeve with his teeth.

                “Okay,” Yuuri nodded, scrambling off the bus with the other few passengers that got off. He stared at the village, a little lost. Then, he finally pulled out his cell. He had no connection here, but somehow Yuuri managed to receive a message from Phichit before he lost it.

                “Good luck. Also, sorry in advance!” Yuuri read. He frowned, wondering what Phichit meant. Phichit took a lot of selfies, active on Twitter and so many other sites. He didn’t recall taking any recent photos with Phichit.

                Makkachin barked, impatient.

                “Sorry,” Yuuri said, towing away his cell. He would worry about it later. He readjusted his backpack and squared his shoulders. Makkachin wagged his tail again, nose to the ground already sniffing and catching the scent.

                The sky grew darker as Makkachin led Yuuri deeper into the woods. The trees clustered together, thick and dark. Yuuri tripped a few times over a tree root and once on a wet leaf. The air grew chillier, and Yuuri pulled his jacket around him closer. He looked down at Makkachin, worried, but the poodle didn’t seem cold at all. His everything was bent on finding Victor. The flashlight in Yuuri’s hand stuttered, and it went out leaving them in almost complete darkness. He hit the flashlight because they were new batteries, but the light didn’t return. Makkachin yelped when he realized Yuuri stopped following him.

                “My flashlight isn’t working,” Yuuri told him. Makkachin shook his head.

                “It won’t work here?”

                Makkachin barked in affirmation, and Yuuri sighed, running a hand through his hair. Kami, he was blind even with his glasses. He put the flashlight away, and Makkachin barked excitedly, nearly shooting off. Yuuri had to run, trailing after him.

               That was when Yuuri heard it.

                The strange creak of noise. Of something that sounded like claws. Goosebumps broke out on Yuuri’s skin, and he had to swallow and steel himself. It was for Victor and for Makkachin, and he—he froze as Baba Yaga’s house came into view.

                The house…it walked. The entire shack rested on four chicken legs, long and spindly. There was no windows, only one door that Yuuri couldn’t reach because the house turned, rotating every minute or so on the chicken legs. A small fence made of bones with human skulls on spike surrounded the house, forming an all around balcony, and instead of lanterns, fires were set with in the skulls themselves. The fiery glow in the skull’s eyes stared out at the world, blank and intense.

                “Makkachin,” Yuuri whispered. He leaned down, scooped up Makkachin, clutching the dog for courage. Makkachin licked his check in reassurance. Yuuri closed his eyes, inhaled deeply before letting it out. Then, he strode up to the house, determined. Carefully, Yuuri repeated the words Makkachin told him to say.

                “Turn your back to the forest, your front to me.”

                There was a sudden pause, and then the house jolted into action. The tiny depilated shack turned, its crooked chimney nearly toppling with the movement. The chicken legs wobbled, but held strong as the house set itself as Yuuri asked. There was a clack as a set of rickety stairs unfolded, stretching down, and the bone fence’s gate clattered open.

                “Ganbatte,” Yuuri said weakly. He climbed the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Vitya = nickname for Victor
> 
> **Dacha = Kind of a country home/cottage: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dacha
> 
> ***Baba Yaga's house was obtained from text and inspired by these photos:  
> http://cy-lindric.tumblr.com/post/129842921598/yaga-yaga
> 
> ****Ganbatte: Good luck.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, happy holiday to those who celebrate it. Work is kicking my ass like usual, and I only find time to write in short spurts. Another part, but well, it's something at least. 
> 
> This time, the tone is a little more fairy tale-ish. If only because that's how it is. But I'm excited for the next part because -- well, you'll see when you get to the end.
> 
> Again, thank you for reading. I'm grateful for all the kudos and comments. :D

               Yuuri cringed. The door itself was bone too, stark white and bare. The knob appeared to be made of human teeth, canines sharp for any hand that might touch it, and for a small door—it was just an inch taller than Yuuri’s height and doubled his width—stood imposing. Sweat formed on Yuuri’s palms, sticking awful to Makkachin’s fur. He reached out, hand shaking just a little, and knocked on the door three times. The sound was hollow, hardly loud at all, but Yuuri’s ears still rang with noise as if a canon had boomed right next to him. He blinked, disconcerted by the oddness. Still, the knock drew attention. There was a rumble, low and steady, and a foreboding creak as the door swung open.

                “Fie, what is it that I smell?”

                The shack shook, swaying on its chicken legs, and Yuuri almost tripped as he stepped across the threshold. He didn't dare venture farther in, grip tight on Makkachin. He looked in the direction of the voice, at least where he thought it was. The inside was dark, and any light was too dim for Yuuri’s bad eyes.

                “Hello, it is me, grandmother,” Yuuri greeted using his most formal tone, one usually reserved for guests at the onsen. As his eyes adjusted, he could see a tall bony lady in a chair bent over a book. Her hair was lank and unkempt, and she had the largest nose Yuuri had ever seen. The Baba Yaga pinned him with an assessing stare.

                “You—“ The Baba Yaga drew herself up out of her seat, sniffing the air with a large nose. “You don’t smell like a Russian.”

                When she spoke, Yuuri saw her crooked teeth with missing gaps. He held back his shudder, at the rot in those black teeth and the gaze in her black eyes. The Baba Yaga looked fearsome, but Yuuri consoled himself that she didn’t look as scary as the spirit from the _Grudge_.

                “I’m afraid not,” Yuuri said, clutching Makkachin tighter. He took a step forward. “I wish to ask for a spool of thread, the one that leads to your sister by the lake.”

                “Is that so?” The Baba Yaga asked. She sniffed the air again.

                “Yes, grandmother.”

                The Baba Yaga wrinkled her noise in distaste. “You are a lucky one. If you smelled like a Russian I would have eaten you, but you might give me indigestion.”

                “Ano,” Yuuri tripped over his words a little. The Baba Yaga didn’t seem to expect a response, and Yuuri flinched when she raised a hand. The door closed behind him, plunging Yuuri into almost complete darkness. There was several skulls filled with a bright orange flame, and they burned ominously as Yuuri summoned up the courage to speak. He didn’t stop to wonder how she understood his Japanese.

                “And what shall I do for you, grandmother? For the spool of thread,” he clarified. Nothing came without a price.

                The Baba Yaga laughed, a high crackle in her throat. “You must live with me and work for me, or I’ll eat you up anyhow.”

                Her teeth gnashed together, clacking and terrible. Yuuri nodded, unable to trust his voice.

                “Serve me the food in the stove,” the Baba Yaga pointed. Makkachin jumped out of Yuuri’s arms. The stove was black, thick with soot, and yet it had to be magic. There was food for twenty people at least. He carefully carried the dishes to the table, relying on his old memories of waiting at the onsen. Mari would have done a better job, but the Baba Yaga didn’t notice Yuuri’s care. She feasted on the kvass, chicken, schi, bread, and pork. She ate with gusto, a hearty appetite, and left behind only a little cabbage soup.

                Yuuri didn’t dare help himself to any of the food as tempting as it might have been. Never eat spirit food was a lesson well known and taught. He didn’t think he could eat anyway with how the Baba Yaga inhaled dishes whole and barely stopped in between bites. He watched as the Baba Yaga finished, burped, and then stretched. Her long arms almost hit the ceiling of her tiny shack.

                “Well,” she said picking a bone out of her remaining teeth where it was stuck. “When I go tomorrow, you must swept the yard, clean the hut, cook dinner, wash the linen, and sort the wheat.”

                “Yes, grandmother.”

                For her thin frame, the Baba Yaga walked with a heavy gait. She laid down on a bed. Her large nose nearly touched the ceiling, and she took up a large amount of space for her skeletal frame. She snored away quickly, the shack rumbling with her every breath.

                Yuuri moved his items to a corner, trying not to look at any of the skulls. Makkachin nuzzled into him, but Yuuri didn’t sleep a wink. All night, the Baba Yaga’s snores shook him, and the shack would creak and groan with the howling wind outside. Finally, light slowly peeked into the shack through the cracks. The Baba Yaga got up, took her pestle and mortal and a silver birch to brush away her tracks. When she had gone, Yuuri turned to Makkachin. He pulled out a treat from his bag for the poodle.

                “What should I do?” Yuuri asked, knowing he wouldn’t finish all of that. Makkachin woofed down the treat and then barked twice. Yuuri yelped as a broom in the corner came to life and swept the floor. Then, Makkachin tugged Yuuri’s shirt, pulling him toward the stove.

                “Thank you,” Yuuri said. Makkachin would ensure he get all the tasks done, but he would still have to make food. He stared at the stove. He wasn’t that great of a cook, but he was passable at least. Yuuri grimaced and got to work.

                The Baba Yaga came back that night.

                “Have you done what I told?”

                Yuuri nodded. “Yes, grandmother.”

                The Baba Yaga frowned. “Very well. My faithful servants, grind the wheat.”

                Three pairs of hands appeared in the air, and Yuuri’s breathing stuttered. The hands took the sorted wheat and promptly vanished—to do as Baba Yaga said. Yuuri served her.

                “What is this?” the Baba Yaga asked, pointing at a dish.

                “Katsudon.” Or as close as Yuuri could get to it without mirin and proper ingredients. “It’s a pork cutlet simmered in—“

                The Baba Yaga sniffed the air. “Fie, you aren’t a Russian.”

                But she ate and ate until she had her fill. “Tomorrow, you must do the same. You must also sort out the poppy seeds. Someone has gotten dirt into them.”

                The next day, again, Yuuri gave Makkachin a treat. Again, Makkachin barked twice, and Yuuri only had to cook dinner.

                “Why are you so quiet?” the Baba Yaga asked, out of the blue, pausing for once from her voracious appetite.

                “I don’t know what to say,” Yuuri answered. To be honest, he was too scared, and he didn’t want to say the wrong thing. Just like flubbing his jumps when nervous, Yuuri stumbled over words when anxious. He ladled out another bowl of soup for the Baba Yaga.

                “Tell me, why you seek my sister.”

                “She has one of my friends,” Yuuri said honestly. He tried not to fidget as the Baba Yaga stared at him. “I want him back.”

                “I heard,” the Baba Yaga said slowly, “that she has. Very well, tomorrow, I will give you the spool of thread, but you must go see my other sister for we are three.”

                Makkachin licked his hand under the table in agreement. In fact, Yuuri could see his tail wagging excitedly.

                “Okay,” Yuuri said. “I will see your sister, grandmother.”

                “Tell her what you told me for she can help you better.”

                And Yuuri was glad the next day when he could leave the shack. The Baba Yaga gave him the spool of thread as promised, and he set off with Makkachin back to the village through the forest.

                He petted Makkachin. “Thank you, thank you. I thought she was going to eat me.”

                He pulled out his cell, opening a map to figure out how to get to the next Baba Yaga. Yuuri’s cell rang all of a sudden, and he nearly dropped it. Right. Yuuri should probably have texted Phichit now that he had signal again.

                “Phichit?” he answered in a hurry, “I’m fine. But I have to—“

                “You fucking loser.”

                Yuuri almost dropped his phone again at the angry tone. “What? Who is this?”

                “I got your number off him,” the voice growled. “It’s me, Yuri. And what the hell have you done with Victor?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri never expected blackmail, but then he never expected this either. Phichit was one dead man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long with this. Busy, busy, busy with work and doing stuff. Of course, the end of the year is always busy with holidays and so forth. The latest episode was amazing~ And I finally couldn't resist and started a new YOI fanfic. So, there's that on why this was delayed.
> 
> Hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading again.
> 
> [I'm still trying to figure out the footnotes, but I don't think I'll get to it until next year....]

               Yuuri stared at his cell in disbelief. His ears were still ringing from the sheer volume of the Russian punk, and he actually wasn’t entirely sure it had happened. His mind was addled after those few days with the Baba Yaga, so it couldn’t be discounted. He checked the call history. No. It was there—an unfamiliar number with the Russian country code. The call had lasted approximately five minutes though it felt longer with the way Yuri had berated him over the phone for keeping Victor to himself. Yuuri groaned, face palming. He didn’t even remember what he said.

                Makkachin wasn’t bothered like Yuuri was. Time was wasting, and he nudged his snout right into Yuuri’s knees. He pushed Yuuri along the way, nearly tripping Yuuri in the process.

                “Alright, alright! I’m going. I didn’t forget, I promise.” Yuuri put his hands up in the air in surrender. He almost lost his cell there. He stowed it safely away in his pocket. They made their way to the bus stop. It was going to be at least an hour or so wait. The buses this far out weren’t quite reliable with their schedule, and Yuuri still couldn’t believe that conversation. He didn’t understand how Yuri could have known---

                Wait. Yuuri did.

                _Really? You had to give him my number?!_

                The return text was almost instant: _Oops?_

                “Don’t you oops me,” Yuuri texted back furiously. “How does he—“

                Yuuri stopped abruptly, erasing the last part, and called Phichit.

                “Moshi, moshi?” Phichit answered cheerfully as if he hadn’t done anything wrong at all like giving his personal number away to a grouchy teen.

                “Phichit!”

                “Ahaha. I’m so sorry—gomen, gomen,” Phichit apologized. “I couldn’t resist, you know.”

                “I’m pretty sure you could have,” Yuuri said dryly. He didn’t need to be yelled at this early in the morning and not by a teenager. “What in the world did you tell him?”

                “I didn’t tell him anything. Honest!”

Yuuri could picture Phichit crossing his heart, and that wasn’t as reassuring as Yuuri thought it could be.

               “Then, how does he know to call me?”

               There was a pause, and Phichit sighed. “Well, I may have…you know, posted a tweet. I didn’t talk about your crazy magic stuff. Just hinted that you were in Russia and that maybe Victor was with you.”

               Yuuri dropped his head, one hand to his temple. There was the beginning of a growing headache caused by the wonderful Phichit.

                “Great,” Yuuri groused. “Am I going to be attacked by any other Russians?”

                “No?”

                “Phichit!”

                There was a pause, then Phichit’s voice went low, warm and reassuring. “I promise I wasn’t trying to get you in trouble. I just thought, it would help. If you go missing at least people know where you might be and where to look for you. Although, if you get eaten by that witch—I’m coming to your rescue.”

                That…that was actually pretty sound. Yuuri couldn’t argue with that.

                “Well, thanks.” Yuuri sighed. “I know you’ve been helping me a lot.”

                “Your number one best friend~” Phichit agreed.

                “How’s the skating by the way? I still have time to waste. We’re waiting for the next bus, and I’m going to see another Baba Yaga.” Yuuri patted Makkachin whose eyes were focused on the road. They were one step closer to getting Victor back.

                “You’re not going to believe what I have this year. I finally bore Ciao-Ciao down.”

                “Oh?” Yuuri smiled. “Is he finally letting you do ‘Shall We Dance’?”

                “It’s going to be awesome.”

                For a little while, Yuuri allowed himself to be lost in the conversation. He didn’t even mind when his phone blew up with more text notifications from Mari, Yuuko, and Minako-sensei.

 

**oOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 

                The ride was quiet as the bus slowly chugged through the rocky roads into this village and that. It had been two days since he talked to Phichit, and Yuuri was getting tired of riding the bus. The second Baba Yaga was even further away, and it was difficult not knowing the language. He kept to himself and to Makkachin, rereading the Russian fairy tales whenever he could and thinking about Victor. Yuuri could hardly sleep, and he hoped he wasn’t too late getting back to Victor.

                When the bus finally came to a stop, Yuuri’s legs were cramped from the lack of movement and tightness of space. He winced as he stood, needles in his calves, and followed Makkachin out. It was already nightfall, and Yuuri needed to get a room. However, a prickling sensation crawled up the back of his neck and spine. It made him pause and annoyed the person behind him trying to get off as well. The feeling became stronger as Yuuri got closer to the bus door, and he almost didn’t want to step off. It felt as if something was watching him. Yuuri hoped he wasn’t too late.

                It wasn’t until Makkachin bounded out of the bus and barreled straight into a person that Yuuri realized where that strange sensation of being watched came from.

                “Wait, Makkachin!”

                “Woof!”

                “Оу, Слезь с меня! глупый пёс!”

                “Mak-chan!” Yuuri scrambled to pull Makkachin off the person, but he didn’t need to do anything. Yuri Plisetsky glared up at him from the ground, blond hair wild with the hoodie of his jacket knocked askew. Makkachin had settled between Yuri’s legs as if he had always been there.

                “You loser. Where’s Victor?”

                “Hello to you too,” Yuuri sighed as Makkachin licked Yuri’s face, excited and all tail wagging. “I don’t know where Victor is.”

                “Bullshit.” Yuri pushed himself to a standing position, giving a soft pat to Makkachin’s head as he did so. “You just stole him away—he was supposed to teach me.”

                “Right,” Yuuri nodded, too tired to feel much. “Can we at least sit down before we go over this? I’m kind of hungry, and I think you are too probably.”

                Yuri opened his mouth to protest, but he didn’t. He turned on his heels. “I’m picking.”

                The tiny restaurant was quaint with multiple colorful rugs hanging on the wall. Yuuri dug into his _zharkoye_ , happy to eat something other than what he had carried in his bag. The potato and meat were filling, and it warmed Yuuri up really nicely. The meal would have been even more pleasant if he didn’t have the weight of Yuri’s stare on him. The kid had practically inhaled his meal and was waiting on Yuuri to finish.

                “So,” Yuuri sighed, putting his spoon down. “Why are you here?”

                “I told you—I’m looking for Victor. He’s been missing, and then that skater posted that you were here and with Victor.”

                “Right,” Yuuri sighed again, mentally thanking Phichit for putting him in this situation. “What I want to know is…are you even allowed to be here?”

                School hasn’t started yet, probably, but it didn’t mean that Yuri should be here of all places.

                “What? You dumb—“

                “You’re only fifteen, aren’t you?” Yuuri interjected. “I can’t imagine that Yakov or your parents would let you out here on your own.”

                It was deeply concerning to Yuuri. Maybe there was a cultural difference he didn’t understand, but he was pretty certain that a fifteen year old kid shouldn’t be on his own. He shuddered and hoped that no one thought he was kidnapping Yuri. He had no desire to be a pedophile. Yuuri could just see the headlines now: Japanese Skater found with young Russian skater. You won’t believe what he did!

                Yuri scowled, crossing his arms. “They know where I am.”

                When Yuuri gave him an unimpressed look, Yuri rolled his eyes.

                “My дед—my grandpa has a dacha around here. I’m staying with him.”

                “Or they think you’re staying with him?” Yuuri asked, knowingly. He was a kid once too, and it was confirmed when Yuri didn’t reply and glared at him harder. Yuuri groaned. “Kuso. I’m texting Phichit. He’ll let your coach know you’re with me, and he can contact your family. If I get in trouble for this…”

                “You don’t need to do that.”

                “Yes, I do. You might not be a kid exactly, but you’re still not of age.” Yuuri fired off the text then leaned forward over the table on his elbows. “So…”

                Yuri made a face. “So, you’re going to tell me where Victor is?”

                “I’ll tell you.”

                “Really?” Yuri asked, suspicious.

                Yuuri snorted. “Yeah, but I don’t think you’ll believe me.”

                “Just say it.”

                “Okay, but don't say I didn’t warn you.” Yuuri pushed his empty bowl to the side and started talking. At the end of Yuri stared at him as if he was crazy. The kid was entirely quiet, and it unnerved Yuuri.

                “Ano, I’m not lying,” Yuuri said, holding up his hands. “I swear that it’s the truth—“

                “Oh my fucking god,” Yuri swore, banging his hands on the table. The dishware clattered, and Yuuri had to put a hand out to keep the spoon from falling.

                “I’m sorry?”

                “I can’t believe this,” Yuri went on. “You—you’re going to rescue Victor without knowing anything about the Baba Yaga? You really are dumb. I just—“

                “You believe me?” Yuuri asked.

                “Believe you?” Yuri exclaimed. “I grew up on this stuff! My дед told me so many stories, and…now I have to come with you! And Victor’s stupid too. Getting himself caught like that. How’s a Japanese person supposed to rescue someone in Russian land? I mean…”

                “What? You can’t come with me.” Yuuri said, entirely alarmed, over Yuri’s rant. Of all the ways he expected Yuri to react, he didn’t expect this. He didn’t need Yuri tagging along too. Makkachin was enough already.

                “Why not?” Yuri growled. “It’s my country.”

                “It’s, it’s dangerous!” Yuuri spluttered.

                “And?”

                “Your coach and family are going to murder me if I bring you with me.”

                “Your problem, not mine.” Yuri leaned back into his chair. “And do you know anyone else who speaks Russian?”

                “I’ve managed so far.”

                “You’ll manage better with me. Besides, like I said—Victor owes me a routine. No Baba Yaga is going to stop me from winning the GPF.”

                “Yuri, please.”

                “If you don’t take me with you, I’ll tell them you’re trying to sell me.” Yuri pointed discretely at the owner behind the counter. They were looking at them with curious eyes, probably because they were loud.

                “That’s—that’s blackmail!”

                Yuuri looked at them, and sweat started forming at his temple. He couldn’t believe the nerve of this kid.

                Yuri smirked. “Well?”

                The only thing Yuuri could think was, Phichit was a dead man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Оу, Слезь с меня = Ow, get off me!  
> глупый пёс = You stupid dog.  
> Дед = grandpa  
> kuso = shit/crap


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's an adventure with Yuri, but really two Yuris are better than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> December was super busy. Every time I sit down to write, it didn't happen. Also, work gave me more responsibilities. It's kind of scary, but it does mean I have more meetings and less time to write. Anyway, have this and I'll try to get the next part out sooner. Thanks for continuing to read.
> 
> Please also give special thanks to Shion for correcting my Russian. I'm going to update and fix those after this posting. :)

                Yuuri rubbed his temples with his thumb and middle fingers, shoulders sagging. His counterpart by name sat next to him, huddled up in a thick black hoodie against the window. Yuri wanted the window seat, and Yuuri could care less. Not when he had to deal with strange looks from the people staring at why a Japanese person was with a teenage Russian. It also wasn’t very pleasant to speak to Coach Yakov. As if Yuuri had a hand in Yuri leaving his training, even if it was off season. He didn’t want to take Yuri with him at all even if he was helpful. It really beat trying to figure out how to explain what he wanted at the store.

                The headache still wasn’t going away. Yuuri fumbled for some Tylenol, popping one into his mouth. The water helped. With that, Yuuri had one thing down. The rest? Yuuri peeked at Yuri. He seemed to be sleeping, so Yuuri leaned a little closer to peer out the window. Outside rolled the same countryside. A sight Yuuri knew far too well at this point. It was far from picturesque, becoming a hellish landscape. It didn’t trump travelling through Death Valley with Phichit talking his ear off though it came pretty close. He sighed, wishing the pain in his head would disappear.    

                Makkachin was a heavy weight in his lap, sprawled across both his knees and Yuri’s. The poodle snored away as Yuuri used him as a makeshift table and arm rest. Tapping at the cell screen, Yuuri brought up the map. He went over this with Mak-chan before, but he had an uneasy feeling about this current bus ride. As Yuuri suspected, it didn’t make sense. The map didn’t correlate with the direction of the bus. Tapping the screen again, Yuuri pulled up a map in Japanese. His native language was soothing to his tired brain. He didn’t have to think too much and translate in his head, but it didn’t help Yuuri understand where they were.

                “Give me that!”

                Yuuri jerked, nearly sending his cell cascading to the bus floor.

                “Really?” Yuri shot him an unimpressive look. His right cheek had slight indentation marks where the fabric had bunched up during his sleep.

                “You’re awake.” Yuuri looked at his bag. “Do you want water?”

                “No,” Yuri yawned, palm outstretched. “Now, give me that.”

                “Give you what?”

                Before Yuuri could blink, his cell disappeared from his hand.

                “Hey!” Yuuri protested, movement jostling Makkachin in the process. Makkachin let out disgruntled snort, tail thumping onto Yuuri’s thigh where the lower half of his body rested. The motion didn’t bother Yuri at all. The kid glared at Yuuri’s phone, muttering something in rapid Russian. Yuuri couldn’t catch or understand it of course, but there was no way he could miss the way Yuri’s forehead scrunched in frustration. There was also the way Yuri’s mouth stretched thin. Wisely, Yuuri left him to it, stretching his legs as much as he could in the tight space. Being cramped on a bus was murder on his legs.

                “You moron!” Yuri chucked the cell at Yuuri, annoyed. It landed on his chest, hard and painful.

                “ _Nani?_ ” Yuuri saved the cell from the doomed floor just barely.

                “You fucking moron,” Yuri repeated. “You got us lost.”

                Yuuri frowned. The open map on his cell was still in Japanese.

                “Are you sure? Can you even read this?”

                Yuri scowled, crossing his arms as he rolled his eyes. “Yes! Unlike you, who can barely speak Russian, I actually know enough Japanese to talk to people.”

                “You do?” That was not something Yuuri expected him to know or even want to learn. Yuri was pretty smart. It wasn’t easy to learn a second language much less two.

                “Yeah.”

                “Why?” Yuuri winced at how the word came out so rough and short. He genuinely wanted to know. A faint blush, so light that he could have imagined it, appeared on Yuri’s face.

                “I—none of your business!” Yuri stood up, huffing. Makkachin barked, butting its snout into Yuuri’s stomach.

                “Sorry,” Yuuri apologized, petting the poodle. Then, “but Yuri—“

                “Shut up! I’m going to—I’m going to find out where we are. You stay there!”

                Yuri stormed through the aisle, knocking against Yuuri’s knees in the process. Yuuri sighed, closing his eyes. He still didn’t think it was a good idea taking the kid with him, and his headache had magically grown worse instead of abating. He prayed silently that Yuri’s grandpa or Coach Yavok wouldn’t kill him on this misadventure.

                It didn’t take long to get sorted out. After two bus transfers, more yelling from Yuri, they were now trudging on foot to the next Baba Yaga’s house.

                “Are you sure we’re going the right way?” Yuri groused. The sky was getting darker. Yuuri cast a glance at Makkachin. The poodle barked in confirmation.

                “I hope so.”

                Yuri groaned, stopping in the middle of their trek. He raised an eyebrow at Yuuri. “What kind of an adult are you? Aren’t you supposed to know?”

                Yuuri shrugged. “Like you said, I don’t know Russian or your fairy tales very well. Thank you for helping me. I really appreciate it.”

                That left Yuri speechless, maybe a little stunned. When he still didn’t say anything, Yuuri walked on. However, Yuuri wasn’t following. He was still stuck in the same pose.

                “Yuri?”

                There was a look on his face that made Yuuri a little scared.

                “You!”

                “Whoa!” Yuuri stumbled back as Yuri launched himself at him. He clutched the lapels of Yuuri’s coat and yanked Yuuri down to his level.

                “черт! You are a moron! I’m a moron!”

                “What happen?” Yuuri asked, prying Yuri off of him.

                “Did you get a spool of thread from Baba Yaga?”

                 It took a bit for the words to register. “Uh, yes?”

                “Give it to me!” Yuri stretched out his palm, impatient. “Hurry up.”

                “Uh, okay.” Yuuri finished it out of his backpack. He packed it carefully, wrapping the precious spool in a handkerchief.

                “I can’t believe I forget!” Yuri tilted the spool in his hand this way and that, marveling at it. He took a deep breath before placing the spool on the ground.

                “Go. Work your magic and show us the way to Baba Yaga—you know the one.” The spool didn’t move.

                “Did you hear me?” Yuri paused, glaring at the spool. “Что, ты издеваешься надо мной?”

                “Um…,” Yuuri started. “Maybe you should—“

                “Shut up!” Yuri crouched down and spoke a little more gently. “пожалуйста. Please show us the way to Baba Yaga.”

                Yuuri watched, amazed, as this time the spool rolled an inch to the left. He didn’t dare speak, and the spool continued to roll until it had rolled away from them, leaving its thread behind. It wasn’t a minute before the spool was out of sight and only a shiny red thread trailing into the woods remained. Yuri grinned, triumphant.

                “I—“ Yuuri didn’t know what to say.

                “My Дед stated that it is one of the only method of finding Baba Yaga.”

                “I thought it was supposed to led to the other Baba Yaga—the one that has Victor.”

                “It’s a magic spool of thread. I think it can show the way to anything. Ah, my Дед is so smart. How can I forget his stories? Thank you, Дед.”

                “You must be very close to your grandpa,” Yuuri observed.

                “He’s really the best. You should try his pirozhkis. They’re so good,” Yuri gushed. To Yuuri’s surprise, the kid actually smiled.

                “I’ll thank him by getting you back to him in one piece.” Yuri prodded the thread with the toe of his shoe. “Let’s go before it gets too dark.”

                Makkachin barked in agreement, trotting off alongside the thread.

                The thread took them deeper into the forest where the trees were thick and crowded too close together. It took them deeper still where even the moonlight couldn’t reach the forest ground. The only light was from a branch wrapped with a cloth drenched in oil. Yuuri learned his lesson from his flashlight malfunctioned the first time. He was glad he bought these additional supplies. There was no wind, and the sounds of their movement were probably too loud in these woods.

                A bird or something hooted, sending Yuri straight into Yuuri. It was colder too, and Yuuri held his hand out without thought. It took a moment, but Yuri grabbed onto it like a lifeline.

                “It’s okay to be scared.” Yuuri looked ahead, eyes straining with his poor eyes. He hoped his makeshift torch lasted.

                “Who says I’m scared? I just don’t want to trip.” Still, Yuri clutched his hand tighter as another strange sound echoed in the forest.

                “We should be close.” Yuuri didn’t really know if that was true, but ten minutes later Makkachin barked.

                The forest ground had leveled out. A strong wind swept through, and the torch in Yuuri’s hand spluttered and died out. He put the torch down and forced himself to walk forward, Yuri still in hand. There was a creaking noise, and goosebumps rose on Yuuri’s skin. Yuri’s hand was a vise, and Yuuri couldn’t really reassure him.

                Again, the same scene unfolded before him. Another shack stood before him, resting on two chicken legs instead of four. There was one window Yuuri could make out and one small door. There was no fence, but the shack had stairs made of bones leading up to it. Two skulls were set on either side of the door, glowing an intense orange.

                “Is that?” Yuri whispered.

                “Yes.”

                “Maybe I should…”

                “I won’t let her eat you, I promise. Here. Take Makkachin.” Yuuri let go of Yuri’s hand, scooping up Makkachin and letting Yuri hold him.

                They were facing the right way, so all Yuuri had to do was climb those stairs. He tried not to think too hard about what he walked on. The door was bone too, stark white and just as bare. The knob too had teeth, with a sharpness that belied any human. Yuuri knocked firmly.

                “Fie, what is it that I smell?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nani = what  
> черт = Fuck  
> Что, ты издеваешься надо мной? = What, are you kidding me?  
> Пожалуйста = please  
> Дед = grandpa


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the second Baba Yaga asked for a story...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. It's pretty much a year since I updated this fic. Life has been so busy, but I really do mean to finish this fic. Although, I probably say that for a lot of fics. 
> 
> But this is a fairy tale AU, so it's like my baby here. Ahaha, well, I hope you all enjoy reading this if you're still following. Happy Holidays.

                The Baba Yaga looked down at them, a nasty smile on her face. She was taller than her sister with a nose that was equally as large. She too was thin, cheeks gaunt and wrists bony. Yuuri had to suppress the shiver that came across him. He could feel that there was more to her than the other Baba Yaga. Maybe stronger? More powerful?

                “A Russian child, sweet and tender,” the Baba Yaga answered her own question in delight. “Come in, child, come in.”

                Yuri didn’t move. He was frozen, eyes wide as he took in the Baba Yaga. His arms were clutched tight around Makkachin, and he was the stillest that Yuuri had ever seen him be. Ruefully, Yuuri thought that the kid now knew what he was getting into, but it was too late.

                “Come child,” Baba Yaga said. “Do not be afraid.”

                The door slammed shut with a wave of her hand, and Yuuri instantly swept in front—placed himself between the Baba Yaga and Yuri.

                “Hello grandmother,” Yuuri said with a calmness that didn’t match the nerves building in his stomach.

                The Baba Yaga stared at him, mouth agape. Then, she seemed to draw herself even taller than she was. “Hello. You are not a Russian.”

                Yuri cringed a little, as her nostrils flared and took in the scent of them.

                “No, grandmother.” Yuuri swallowed, trying not to choke on his own saliva. He could feel sweat building at his temples. It was an odd mix of being hot and cold at the same time. He was made uncomfortable even more as the Baba Yaga came closer, nose right in Yuuri’s face. Her nostrils took another sniff at him, and her black eyes pored deep into Yuuri’s. It took everything Yuuri had not to scream, though he was too frightened to flinch this time. Her mouth was foul, and Yuuri could have fainted at the stench. Only the knowledge that Yuri and Makkachin was behind him kept him upright.

                “I came from a far off place, grandmother,” Yuuri forced himself to say. “Will you lend me shelter?”

                Yuuri pulled on his best onsen smile, praying and hoping that he would make it past.

                The Baba Yaga didn’t answer, merely stepped back to assess him further. There was a look in her eyes that Yuuri couldn’t decipher. He really didn’t want to be eaten, though that wouldn’t be so bad. Yuri could rescue Victor, and Yuuri was already worthless from his loss. He wouldn’t be missed, really. He was startled out of that line of thought by Yuri.

                “Hey! He asked you a question!”

                Yuuri groaned to himself. Of course, Yuri had to speak.

                “That’s very rude of you.” He shot a hasty look at the Baba Yaga. “I’m sorry, please forgive him, grandmother.”

                Yuri straightened then, Makkachin almost forgotten in his arms. “Grandmother, my name is—“

                Yuuri slapped a hand over Yuri’s mouth, pressing a little harder than he needed.

                “His name is Yurio, grandmother,” Yuuri quickly said. “My name is James. I’m very sorry for our rudeness. How can we make it up to you?”

                “Well,” the Baba Yaga said at last. She still looked puzzled by Yuuri’s presence. “Come in, both of you. It is very late, but you must work for me tomorrow.”

                “Of course, grandmother.” Yuuri nodded, hasty and quick. He raised an eyebrow at Yuri as he removed his hand from the kid’s mouth. “Say thank you, Yurio.”

                “Thank you, grandmother,” Yuri said through gritted teeth. He stomped on Yuuri’s foot, but it didn’t matter. That slight pain was worth them being here. The door slammed shut, sweeping everything into darkness for a second.

                There was a soft swish, and then the room was bright, lit by flames nestled within some empty human skulls. The glow that peeked through their eyes were no less terrifying then the first time Yuuri saw them.

                Baba Yaga gnashed her teeth together and pointed at Yuuri with a finger, nail long and sharp. “You. Serve me the food in the stove.”

                Yuuri hurried to do as asked, tugging Yuri along with him.

                “Come on,” he muttered.

                “B-but—“

                “We’ll talk more tomorrow morning.”

                Together, they set the table. Bread, pork, chicken, cabbage, schi and kvass—there was plenty for forty people, and Baba Yaga feasted till she gobbled it all up and left only bones and scraps behind.

                “That was good,” Baba Yaga said. Yuri’s stomach growled, and Yuuri hoped he didn’t help himself to any of the scraps. A quick glance over, and there was a distinct air of disbelief on him. As long as he wasn’t making trouble, Yuuri could make it. They had to make it.

                Baba Yaga didn’t get up to bed like Yuuri thought she would. Instead, she looked at Yuri, leaning forward on her elbows.

                “Tell me a story, not of Russian blood. How came you to these lands?”

                “Uh—I don’t,” Yuuri stammered. He was in no way prepared at all for that.

                “A story, child,” Baba Yaga repeated.

                “It’s not a very good one,” Yuuri finally said.

                “I will hear it all the same.”

                Yuuri grimaced. Yuri looked at him, and it figured that this would make him perk up again.

                “Yeah, tell a story,” Yuri said, egging him on. Makkachin barked, happy enough to be in Yuri’s lap getting petted.

                “I was born in Japan,” Yuuri said, stiff and bland. He wasn’t a story teller like Takeshi-kun was. Even Yuuko-chan was better at reading stories to the triplets for all her brashness.

                Yuri poked him, and Yuuri closed his eyes. He took in a deep breath, thinking about Victor. He was the reason why…

                “There is a man I greatly admire,” Yuuri said. The words came to him. He spoke about Victor, how he first saw him on television. How it jumpstarted his everything and about his loss, so shameful that he didn’t even want to talk to anyone. That he couldn’t face Victor.

                 “He is the best you have ever seen on ice. Leaps like no one else can perform. The way he glides across the ice, the way he moves—it’s perfection. He is unreal.”

                The words came out easy, maybe too easy.

                 “And I fell.” Yuuri lifted his head and looked up at the Baba Yaga. “Maybe I know nothing of him. I haven’t even spoken to him, but I fell. I cannot imagine anyone who can do what he can on ice, and so I came. I came to your lands, searching for inspiration. Came here because he was here.”

                There was silence when Yuuri finished.

                “Ano,” Yuuri blushed and scratched the back of his head. “I’m sorry, that was probably not the story you wanted. I, uh, let me try ag—“

                He couldn’t ignore the way Yuri’s eyes scrutinized him. He couldn't believe he said something so sappy to the Baba Yaga, much less in front of the kid.

                “Who is he?” Baba Yaga asked, soft and gentle.

                “I—“ Yuuri flushed further. “If you must know, he is with your sister. The one who lives by the lake.”

                “I see, child.” Baba Yaga stood then. “It is time for sleep.”

                She laid down on the bed, and it wasn’t long before her snores thundered through the house and rattled the walls.

                Yuuri shook his head, putting his hand out for Yuri.

                “Come on, we should probably sleep too. Are you hungry?”

                “A, a little,” Yuri replied, voice subdued. “Do you—I didn’t know you felt that way about Victor.”

                “I do. You should know. Probably a lot of people admire him.” Yuuri knew he wasn’t special. He was just lucky he got to share the ice with him. One of hundreds of fans.

                “Well, he…” Yuri started but stopped. “You’re not—you have food?”

                “Yeah. I have some food in my bag. For Mak-chan too.” Yuuri took out some meat for Makkachin, a little bemused at Yuri’s demeanor, and then he hesitated as he sorted through the rest of the items. The kid looked out of it, and it probably wasn’t what the kid expected at all. Yuuri dug deep into the bag. He had been hoping to save it for later, maybe as a bribe or something.

                “Here,” Yuuri passed him something wrapped in foil. “It’s probably not as good as your Дед, but it should still be okay.”

                “What is it?” Yuri tore into the foil without preamble. “What? This is—“

                “Piroshki,” Yuuri smiled. “I remember you said that you liked eating it, and your grandpa made the best ones.”

                “I— _arigatou_.” The surprised expression on Yuri’s face was good. His smile was wide, beaming, as he thanked Yuuri again. “Really, thank you. I just—“

                “Enjoy.”

                They ate in quiet, disturbed only by Baba Yaga’s snoring. Tomorrow would be another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Дед = grandpa  
> arigatou = thank you
> 
> I also hope this makes it across what some of my own headcanons about Yuri are. Well, if it's enough for anyone to notice.


End file.
